


Queenmaker

by meelie98



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, cardan has incredibly vivid jude-based nightmares, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 19:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19157707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meelie98/pseuds/meelie98
Summary: How Jude torments him while she's gone.(And how he torments Jude.)





	Queenmaker

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my first TFOTA fic!! kind of depressing but hey. TWK's ending was kind of depressing lmao

**1) IN HIS SLEEP**

As a student, Cardan had had dreams about Jude that would make a whore blush.  
   It had been infuriating. It had been mortifying. Particularly because Cardan was not without his fair share of perfectly willing female admirers, yet every night his mind insisted on fixating upon the same grave-faced mortal girl. On her grovelling and begging and grinning and arching her back. Each morning Cardan would wake with his teeth clenched together so hard his jaw ached, chastising himself. It was disgusting to think of a mortal that way. It didn’t matter if he found her pretty or interesting or strange; soon enough she would be rotting beneath the ground somewhere and that was the end of it.  
   When Cardan finally touched Jude it was just the two of them, frantic and sweaty in his study. It was far better than any of his childish fantasies.  
   Now he only had nightmares about Jude.  
   Mostly her dying. Pinned to the floor by Valerian on the day of that horrible lesson, until her skin began to rot like the golden fruit stuffed into her mouth. Sliced open knave to chaps and kept as a throw by her loving stepfather. Glaring at him across the council table, until her eyes started to leak from her head, an abstract result of accidentally consuming a little too much poison.  
   Impaled by his brother in a duel. That one Cardan hated most.  
   On occasion the dreams were pleasant. Several times he had imagined them sat in the palace gardens whilst he traced the curves of Jude’s ears and teased her. She mumbled _I hate you I hate you I hate you_ and he grinned because he adored hearing her lie so blatantly. Once she had appeared beside him in the royal bed, in that ridiculous number she had worn to her sister’s wedding. Cardan said:  
   “Leave me alone.” Jude simply tilted her head slightly in response. He sighed. “Why are you here?”  
   “I came to ask why you sent me away,” She answered. Cardan blinked, unable to fathom how she had broken into his quarters, though he desperately hoped she would stay.  
   “Simple. Because you murdered my brother.”  
   “Sure,” There was a lengthy pause. “Why else? “  
   “Do I need another reason?” laughed Cardan, indignantly.  
   “Your brother took joy in beating you and had you poisoned.  I don’t doubt you still have some kind of twisted affection for him but I also think you had ulterior motives,”  
   “Fine. I exiled you because you deceived me when you put this crown on my head and I promised I’d do the same in return. Did I not?” he sneered.  Jude did not react in the slightest. Cardan’s fingers grasped the sheets beneath the pillow so tightly his knuckles went white. He continued. “I sent you away because I hate you, Jude. For the same reasons I told you when you had that knife to my throat in my brother’s study. I hate you because you were born to die and decompose. You don’t belong here. I hate you because I’m unsure if you’ve ever spoken one word to me that wasn’t a lie. I hate you because I am now the High King of Faerie, and still you have everything I wish I did,”  
   “You don’t hate me at all, Cardan,” Jude replied, easily. It was here Cardan became nebulously aware this was a dream. Jude was far too calm. If she was truly beside him in this bed his throat would have been slashed to bits by now. “It’s really pathetic that you’re jealous of me, you know,” Oh, he knew.  “I have nothing. I have no royal birthright, no one I can honestly trust, no proper place in this realm or the next,”  
   “You have your wits. Your ambition. Me, I truly have nothing,” He blurted out. There was another long pause, during which Cardan felt the scars on his back open up, raw and bleeding. Impossible, certainly; the punishments of Balekin’s servants had faded to pale pink streaks long ago. But by now he had forgotten this was a dream, that there was no conceivable explanation for this. There was only pain and Jude. He inhaled sharply. Jude grinned as though she had never heard a lovelier sound.  
   “You have _the crown of faerie._ ” she hissed. Somehow she had gotten so close to him he could feel her breath on his neck.  
   “Nothing that matters, then.” He amended, voice trembling with pain.  
   “It’s fine,” shrugged Jude. Slowly, she reached out a hand and placed it on his cheek, rubbing her thumb in soothing, circular motions. Bright orange light flooded the room though Cardan was unable to tell if the sun was setting or rising. Everything outside of Jude’s adoring gaze was blurry. “Soon I will give you another gift. Something truly worthwhile,”  
   “And what will I be getting, wife?” He asked, breathless. Cardan could count each individual lash lining her shining brown eyes. He could trace the exact point between her brows that crinkled when she scowled. He hated how his heart beat faster for it, how her venom only made the brief respite of her kindness more alluring, how the softness of her jaw made the blood soaking through his nightshirt seem like nothing. For a few seconds they just stared at one another reverently. Then Jude leaned in even closer – so close her lips brushed his earlobes and her smile touched his neck.  
   Her fingers dug into the open wounds on his back.  
   “You’ll be getting exactly what you deserve.”  
   Cardan woke with a start, soaked head to toe in cold sweat. His hands did not rush to his back, aching with phantom slashes, nor did they search for the dagger he kept in his bedside table. They reached for the empty space next to him.

(Pathetically Cardan had still preferred that one off nightmare to his repeated visions of Jude and Balekin’s duel, if only because he had gotten to look Jude in the eyes and say ‘ _I hate you.’_ He hadn’t been capable of doing so for a long time now.)

* * *

**2) IN HER IMAGE**

Cardan had always loved the courtyard behind Locke’s home.  
   It was small, enclosed, and swathed in thick vines that bloomed with orange flowers in the summer months. Himself, Valerian, Nicasia and Locke had spent many warm evenings drunkenly cackling at the courtyard’s long, wooden table.  
   Now Valerian was dead and Nicasia had almost murdered him and any flower buds had long since withered away. Locke talked at length about his upcoming plans for debauches. Cardan did his best to drown him out. Back when Cardan grew to love this place he had also mistakenly thought he’d been in possession of good friends and a loyal lover. All that old, subconscious sentiment was getting mixed up with his newfound loathing for his former classmates. It was unpleasant, to say the least.  
   Cardan’s whole body tensed up when she walked through the gates. Brown skin, button nose, soft curves, her hair curled into ringlets for once. Instantly all thoughts of Nicasia or Valerian left Cardan’s mind. His lips parted, a million words he had been contemplating for months threatening to spill out with no warning.  
   He realised his mistake a beat too late. Already Cardan had seized up in his chair just enough to catch Locke’s attention.  From the corner of his eye, Cardan could see the lazy, fox-like grin form on his face. Since he could remember Cardan had been able to distinguish between Jude and her timid little twin quite easily. Perhaps, in the months since Jude’s exile, his mind had gotten slower.  
    Or perhaps, in his misery, he had grown more desperate.  
   “Husband, I found you!” Taryn simpered, rushing towards Locke. “The cooks are panicking over the revel. They’re unsure what t…” Gently, Locke placed his hand around Taryn’s wrist and turned her to face Cardan, who was tucked away in a shadowed corner of the courtyard table. Her face blanched. Curtsying, she stuttered out a formal greeting and some generic praise fit for a king. Cardan ran his hand up and down his jaw absentmindedly. On any other occasion he would be embarrassed by his earlier reaction to Taryn’s entrance, but he could not deny Taryn looked astonishingly like her sister today. It was disconcerting. Although they had identical features they were unlike each other in many subtle ways. Taryn was more pallid and less muscled than Jude, and her postured resembled that of an animal prone to cringing away from danger. Cardan recalled the slight dip in Jude’s back, the way she used to square her shoulders before speaking to him, as though preparing for a fight. Jude, he supposed, was the danger people like her sister cringed away from.  
   Today something was different. It was as though his seneschal was truly before him, expression inexplicably shy and meek, body language inexplicably altered but…  
   His seneschal nonetheless.  
   (His Queen.)  
    “I was…” Taryn glanced at Locke quickly, as though searching for some kind of confirmation. He quirked a brow encouragingly, smug smile still plastered to his face. “I was just mentioning, your Majesty,  that our cooks are puzzled about the banquet tomorrow and whether we are to use our own supply of nettle wine or t-“  
   “Is that your sister’s dress?” Cardan interrupted, disinterested in the drivel. Taryn’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’.  
   “I beg your pardon?”  
   “There’s no need to beg. Just answer my question.” Locke frowned at Cardan’s reply.  
   “Do you suggest my wife wears her criminal sister’s hand-me-downs?” He asked, easily. Like it was a joke. Some shared joke they all had cause to laugh at. “Of course not. That dress was a gift.”  
   “For the fete a few months ago,” added Taryn. Slowly she unclasped her hands and began smoothing the plush, cream silk of her skirt. Cardan fixed her with a hard stare, hard enough to pierce through her head and cut the vines crawling upon the limestone wall behind her.  
   A petty thought crossed Cardan’s mind: _Jude would never wear something so dull._  
   Which wasn't true at all. Usually Jude preferred plain clothing that helped her blend in and had many pockets suitable for concealing knives. It came along with the whole 'Court of Shadows' thing he presumed. But he didn't care. He sought to childishly insult Taryn for being a bore as he would have a year ago, when his biggest concern was what party he would be attending next. It would take her down a notch - for daring to wear Jude's face in his presence.  
Maybe he was going mad.  
     "You say ‘her criminal sister’ as though your wife wasn’t a co-conspirator in a treasonous plot against me just a short time ago,” smiled Cardan, humourlessly. “Me. Your King. Though I needn’t remind you, I’m sure.” Taryn blinked very rapidly. Her gaze darted to the ground.  
   “Of course not, Your Majesty. Though I must add we have had this discussion before. Taryn was _manipulated_ by her Father in order t-“  
   “Well, perhaps I should have just exiled the whole family, then.” That was harsh; especially considering Cardan was fairly sober. Actually, he needed to fix that. He drained the contents of the goblet in front of him then filled it to the brim again. When he looked up, Cardan saw that Locke’s face was a mirror of Taryn’s: shock, outrage, shame. But beneath his well-scored expression Cardan saw the undeniable gleam of amusement. Taryn began stammering out a useless apology. Poor girl. She was pathetic and her husband was repulsive.  
   And still she looked just like Jude. Cardan’s mouth went dry.  
   “Just leave,” he snapped, slumping in his chair petulantly. He slung his legs onto the table and scooped up his goblet of wine. Somehow, even before he was tricked into kingship, Cardan had always found it easy to turn anything into a throne.  
   As Taryn left the courtyard by Locke’s side, he saw them, twinkling in her ears. Matching trinkets: a moon and a star.

* * *

**3) IN THE AIR**

Before Cardan would spend his evenings drinking with the most powerful fae in Elfhame and his nights lying with whomever he pleased. He hadn’t wanted kingship, nor was he a particularly good King, but he had to admit the title had its perks.  
   Now Elfhame was on the brink of war and Cardan spent the majority of his time brooding. It was not becoming of someone as pretty as him.  
   This was not to say Cardan had grown any less feckless since he stopped being a puppet king. Whilst he had become more attentive during war council and less contrary in his governing - he had nobody to needlessly spite now - he still spent a great deal of his time in a drunken stupor. Even as their society edged into chaos revels were no less wild. If anything they had only gotten wilder. In times of unrest the people needed distraction and who was Cardan to withhold it from them? So he threw banquets and drank honey wine to the point of nausea and retired to his quarters early in the morning, alone, and his subjects were glad of it.  
   Certainly the court noticed, but they daren’t mention anything. The whispers of Cardan’s advisers and nobles hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. After Cardan’s reaction to Jude’s imprisonment in the Undersea, it had apparently been evident the High King and his seneschal were lovers. To outsiders, Jude had been seen as some infatuated, insipid young girl, clever enough to gift Cardan the crown and stupid enough to stay by his side no matter how she was humiliated. They believed her to be his creature, one he treated well and had particular fondness for, but his creature nonetheless.  
   (Once he had taken malicious pleasure in that, but now it was frustrating. Cardan had been Jude’s the whole time. Not the other way around. It seemed odd no one else could see as much.)  
   Their King’s treacherous brother was slain by his ruthless consort, whom he had banished. It was good fuel for gossip and a reasonable explanation for why he refused to bed anyone anymore. Cardan’s mood was easily explained, and as long as the music kept playing and ale kept flowing, it was easily ignored too.  
   Not as much by those Cardan actually wished to be near. The Roach and the Bomb had cared for Jude, been astonished by her exile, he’s sure, but ultimately they were spies. Their loyalties were questionable at best and non-existent at worst. They discussed politics and murder and poker tactics and many other things that weren’t his former seneschal. It worked because the Roach was good at card games, and Cardan was good at providing alcohol. On one rare occasion the Roach had lost quite poorly, and whilst Cardan scooped jewels into the pockets of his doublet, he asked:  
   “So how long do you plan on moping for? I’m getting sick of the cold.” Somewhere behind them, the Bomb dropped a map she had been busy unfolding and scrambled to pick it up off the ground. Cardan let the fat emerald in his hand fall to the table with a dull _thunk._  
   Nobody had questioned Cardan over the chill in the air yet. When the frost turned to snow, he was sure they would, but he hadn’t quite been ready to acknowledge it in the middle of a surprisingly good game of rummy. Whereas the courtiers’ mutters were too inconsistent to prove anything outright, the weather was evidence of Cardan’s misery. Winds were sharp and cold and trees were still not green though Spring was well underway. And it was Cardan’s doing. His immense power frightened him only slightly less than it publically shamed him.  
   “You think I don’t wish I could defrost the place too?” smirked Cardan, reaching out to reshuffle the deck of cards. “If it’s bothering you that much, I’ll buy you a new coat.” The Roach stared at the jewels in the centre of the table. Then his gaze shifted up to Cardan. His expression was odd; exasperated, accusatory, even slightly pitying. The King straightened up in his seat. He understood how peculiar his behaviour seemed. He had been the one to exile Jude, to laugh with the crowd as she was dragged away by guards, and here he was grieving as though she was dead. It was confusing and depressing to watch. But Cardan would not be pitied by a spy. Settling the cards on the table, he stood and walked to the door.  
   “I shall stop moping when I stop thinking about her,” he shrugged. The Bomb frowned, as if only now understanding the gravity of the situation. “Keep your jewels, Roach,”  
   That night Cardan gorged himself on food and downed enough wine to quench the thirst of a small country. He left the throne room with a pretty bluebell-skinned thing on his arm and they kissed outside his bedroom until his lips grew sore. He could not bring himself to let her in though. She had shuffled away down the hall perplexedly, occasionally throwing a puzzled glance behind her shoulder. When her figure finally disappeared, Cardan opened the door of his quarters mournfully. He could feel the inky black kohl smudged down his face, the smear of various golds and silvers on his cheekbones, but he felt no motivation to bathe. He felt no inclination to do anything at all. He threw himself onto his bed, watching the ornate ceiling spin nauseatingly.  
    _I shall stop moping when I stop thinking of her._  
    Bit by bit Cardan rolled over, enough to face the enormous window still open just a notch, and the crimson curtains that fluttered gently around it. He shivered.  
   Outside, it was snowing.

* * *

**1\. in her hands**

Jude was about to go to sleep.  
  She said goodnight to Vivi. She brushed her teeth. She read a few pages of a book. She promised herself she would not look at it tonight. When the landing light flickered off, Jude reached into her drawer and dug out the red-stoned ring. She held it up to the window and watched how the streetlamps made it glimmer. She reminded herself it had originally been hers, and that there was nothing shameful in looking at a pretty piece of jewelry one owned. She threatened to throw the wretched thing off the balcony. She thought about how she would find the ring’s thief and choke the life out of him.  
   Then Jude slipped the ring onto her left hand and stared until she could imagine someone else having placed it there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i myself subscribe to the theory cardan exiled jude to keep her safe and hopefully undertones of that came through in the fic. i didn't want him to say that explicitly however in case when QoN comes out it turns out he really did just do it bc he's a little bitch and this whole fic would seem ridiculous and i'd put my clown makeup on. anyway it seems reasonable that at least part of jude's banishment was just pure spite so i mostly focused on that in the fic lmao
> 
> please be nice especially if it's a little ooc. like I said this is my first fic for the fandom and i spent all day writing this instead of studying for my history and maths gcse bc i love jude and her side hoe so much. 
> 
> comments and kudos much appreciated! pls talk with me about these two losers on my tumblr: [https://heyheyheyyyyyyyyyyyyy.tumblr.com/](url)


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